


and so eden sank to grief

by karnsteins



Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [10]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Dallas Winston, Alpha Two Bit Mathews, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta Johnny Cade, Canon-Typical Violence, College Years for Ponyboy, Johnny-centric, M/M, Mafia!Dallas Winston, Relationship Study, omega ponyboy curtis, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins
Summary: I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be.the thing about living is that you change. johnny has to find that out the hard way that change isn't exactly in one direction, either.set incause tramps like us are born to run, but can be read as standalone.
Relationships: Johnny Cade & Ponyboy Curtis, Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston
Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969333
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	and so eden sank to grief

**Author's Note:**

> as stated, this can be read as a standalone and contains no major spoilers for _cause tramps like us are born to run_.

i.

everyone grows up. that's simply a fact. johnny knows it; he was forced to grow up earlier than he should've like anyone else in his neighborhood. he'd been looking out for himself for a long time, then looked after by others. was still looked out for by the pack. 

everyone changes, too. he's not the same at twenty-two as he was at sixteen, scared because he'd stabbed bob in defense of ponyboy. 

thing is, of all people he hadn't counted on ponyboy being the one to change so drastically. for the longest time, he was the kid johnny had always known: dreamy, smart, ahead of johnny in a way he couldn't always comprehend sometimes, in ways that made him a little jealous and in awe. 

over the years, some of that had shifted, had become something else to johnny. 

he didn't think, though, it would stare him in the face like this on an afternoon where he'd been in oklahoma city for once, instead of tulsa. he didn't think he'd go from talking with ponyboy about college on his porch, legs tucked beneath him, enjoying a cigarette together to seeing dallas walking towards them in the grass, wincing as blood seeped down his side. 

johnny freezes at the sight of dallas: one eye screwed shut, a bloody hand at his side. he would think that ponyboy would have frozen too, cried out, been terrified. instead, he swears, puts out his cigarette. ponyboy is on his feet, bracing dallas by the waist, half nuzzling into his bloodied, sweaty cheek and saying more calmly than johnny could ever muster in this situation, "johnny, get the door, will ya?" 

ii.

"they mated?" it is 1965, and johnny is still sixteen years old, bewildered at what two bit's just told him.

"sure did," two bit grins at johnny, passing him the cold beer. "dal came back, made good on it. don't suspect we'll see them for another few days." he takes a swig of beer, and johnny finds himself worrying at his lip at this news. dal had been gone for weeks now; johnny had seen how distressed, how upset ponyboy had been in his absence. it had worried him almost more than the trial had, and now that things were okay, well. 

he supposed he should feel happy for them. and he does, glancing up at two bit to say, "ain't it take like a week?" 

two bit nods, getting up to ruffle johnny's hair. "knowing dal, might be more." he lopes out of the living room and to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door. the breeze comes in coolly through the window he's left open, some sounds from the street reaching johnny's ears.

johnny chews his lip more, thinks about it as he turns the beer bottle on his fingers. about dallas, the person he's looked up to the most, with ponyboy, his quiet best friend. dallas who'd never expressed anything but contempt for mating. who was now with ponyboy who always seemed shy and very much wanting to have a mate, who could hardly talk much about it without his ears turning red or averting his eyes.

something about it seems romantic, fairytale almost. he thinks about the letter he'd written, before the operation. the one that he'd penned, thinking he'd never open his eyes again, and what he said in it. 

he wonders if ponyboy will convince dallas to see a sunset with him. if maybe that something really surprising, something really good will come out of this. if ponyboy could maybe change dallas for the better.

johnny takes a sip of beer, and when two bit comes back with a bowl of ice cream to share between them, he digs in.

iii.

the mating mark is deep on ponyboy's shoulder as he yawns, opening the screen door for johnny. johnny can't scent like he used to, yet he's still able to pick up that dallas' scent is stronger than normal. even without that, the pendant on ponyboy's neck further cements what's happened. "mornin', johnny. you're early." 

"i ain't too early, am i?" johnny maneuvers his way in slowly, not sure of what to do. no one's mated anyone in the pack til now, he doesn't really know the rules. the curtis house seems the same as it was before even a two weeks out — just that dallas' scent seems more vivid now, almost as much as it was before the fire. ponyboy shuts the door behind him, hair still in that odd half state of blonde and auburn, wearing only soda's jeans. 

"nah, it's fine," ponyboy shoots him a warm look, "just means you can choose breakfast." 

johnny grins back. he chooses pancakes, ponyboy getting to work. all the while, johnny can't tear his eyes away his torso: a litter of vivid red scratches, bite marks that seem deeper than they should, bruises in the shape of dallas' hands. he can't help but stare at them as ponyboy works, well aware that ponyboy won't notice. 

he's only seen sylvia with this before, and not nearly in the same way, not so personal, not so deep. every bruise looks twice as dark as they'd ever been on sylvia. he tears his eyes away when he hears feet dragging on the floor. 

dallas saunters in without so much as a glance at johnny; he just wraps an arm around ponyboy's waist and growls something in his ear. ponyboy falters, shivers, says something back that's too quiet for johnny to pick up. even without his ability to scent well anymore, johnny can tell that he's interested on dallas, no words needed there. 

this isn't for him. 

he averts his eyes until he hears dallas' footsteps retreat back out of the kitchen, without a word. ponyboy seems to bustle, and when he sets a plate of pancakes down in front of him. moments later, johnny is able to look at him again. his ears are red, and so's his face. "six enough between us, you think?" 

"sure is," johnny replies, eyes fixed on the mark on pony's shoulder. 

iv. 

he doesn't have to sleep in the lot anymore, but sometimes he still likes to go. there are so many things he can't do now, and being able to get to the lot is one of the things he's still proud he's able to do, something that he makes sure he does whenever he can. things though, have changed. 

before, he would have had ponyboy with him. they'd sit in silence, trading sentences on and off. more and more, johnny finds himself here, alone. finds himself distanced from everyone else — he's not stupid as to why. they see the braces, they know that he can't do as much as before. there's resentment in his throat sometimes, about it. sometimes, he's grateful that he doesn't want to die anymore, moments that feel the same and many more that aren't anymore.

the lot used to be his and ponyboy's place. back in the hospital, he thought that when he was out, he and ponyboy would come back here, finish the book. it still sits in his drawer at home, the pages yellowing. it seems that every time he thinks of asking, there's something else going on: his body aching too much to leave; dallas suddenly in the room, arm around ponyboy's shoulder, face tipping down to kiss ponyboy; two bit urging him to a movie instead; the feeling of being overwhelmed thinking about the book, about how they started reading it, the smell of smoke intruding on memories. 

tonight, as he eases into the car seat still left at the lot, leaning over to start a fire, he wishes for ponyboy again. wishes for their own comfortable silence, for his presence beside him. the fire lights up in the pit, and quickly, he pulls back. it's small, easy to manage in the dusk.

johnny is rewarded for his thoughts by the sound of a laugh echoing in the night. he looks up and down the road, he sees ponyboy and dallas, walking together. ponyboy is still in dallas' jacket, his hair finally auburn again. he's laughing at something dallas says, fingers wrapped around a beer. dallas says something else that has ponyboy shaking his head, dallas grinning wider, in that way johnny has begun to realize is only for ponyboy to see, and not him. 

usually, he averts his eyes. not now. this time, he watches them carefully as they make their way down the road, still not quite understanding how they fit. ponyboy's smaller, still an omega in a way that johnny remembered him being so unsure about months before. he's still bright eyed, younger, and dallas is still beside him, dangerous, cool under pressure. and yet, too, he nuzzles his nose against ponyboy's hair as they walk, talks right in his ear as they move. 

if dallas has changed, johnny can't tell. 

by the time they make their way to the lot, johnny can tell that dallas picked up his scent. his eyes snap over to johnny, focused on him in that intent way that he used to sometimes do — and then they're right back to ponyboy, who's already a little red faced, more from beer probably than anything else. dallas says something — johnny see's his name being mouthed — and ponyboy brightens. 

"hey, johnny!" ponyboy calls out his name, waving. 

johnny waves back, "ponyboy! dal!" 

dallas nods at him, "how you doing johnnycake?" ponyboy gives him the beer, kisses dallas' cheek, and then he's jogging towards johnny. johnny watches as ponyboy comes to a skidding halt, coming to sit by him on the chair. 

dallas is the one who looks at them for a long moment, and he's the one who makes his way to the house to leave them alone. johnny averts his eyes back to ponyboy, grateful that for the first time in awhile, they have time to themselves. 

he thinks about the book again, and decides they have another time. for now, johnny asks, "you guys come in from a movie or something?" 

ponyboy's eyes are bright in the firelight. johnny leans back, to listen to him talk like old times. the night rolls on, the sunlight fading. they trade stories, catch up, and by the time ponyboy starts to yawn, johnny is too. 

neither of them leave the fireside, and johnny's voice is quiet when he says, "what's it like, being with him?"

ponyboy sighs, stretches his legs out. he's sitting beside johnny now, half slumping on him, yawning again, the stars bright in the dark sky. "as a mate?" johnny nods, and ponyboy hums, voice thick with sleep, "what d'you mean?" 

"i mean," johnny licks at his mouth nervously, finger going up to gnaw at his nail, "is he… i dunno. is he—"

the sound of feet on gravel distract him. both of them start as dallas himself emerges from the shadows, voice gruff. "c'mon, you two. it's getting late." johnny can't think of a time where dallas has cared all that much about them staying out late, but gets up anyway. ponyboy waits and johnny feels a little annoyed by it. he gets his braces, the crutches just fine. 

it doesn't escape him that dallas grips ponyboy up by the elbow, hauls him up to his feet. that he looks at johnny, makes sure he's steady before walking them back up the street. something about it makes johnny pause, wondering what it is. what about walking them home, about dallas gripping ponyboy, stick in his mind?

he goes to sleep not knowing.

v.

the night is cold, clear in the curtis house. well — it isn't just the curtis house anymore. not when dallas had moved in after he and ponyboy had mated. the rooms shift, change from dallas at first sleeping with pony and soda, to pony and dallas having their own room. it's fascinating in a way to see the rooms shift again, the way they had after darry had at first moved out for college, to when their parents died and now this. johnny had to adjust to choosing the correct room. even then, sometimes all three would still be in the same bed when a heat wasn't on. 

this night, though, is different for other reasons. it's a friday night, soda and steve playing poker, television blaring. johnny had come over with ponyboy earlier after school; he was in pre-heat at this point, opting to hug johnny good night before going to his and dallas' room to sleep. 

johnny had decided to go outside, on the back porch just to have a smoke. what stops him from going full out into the back however, is dallas voice drifting out saying, "--about that, two."

"why not? they're about the same as last year's group. easy money," two bit drawls out, and johnny's brow furrows. it had to be the rodeo they were talking about, going to ride for some money. they came in the next two or three weeks. dallas riding was always something fun to see. 

and he was turning it down?

dallas sucks his teeth. "ain't the same as last year. i gotta — pone's gonna have a heat. and even if he wasn't, can't risk fucking myself for that." 

johnny thinks he could hear a pin drop with that. it wasn't exactly a secret that dallas had gladly gone, rode horses even when he and sylvia were good with each other. sometimes he'd done it just to show off, even. and now he was fully turning it down. 

two bit seems to pick on that immediately. "well, look at you. dally, worried about himself? especially over cute—" there's the sound of him being pushed back, and laughter. "all that money, too?"

"ain't enough to make me go out there, not with buck being a cheapskate anyhow. and i don't cheat," dallas shifts, and johnny decides to get away from the door. he gets away in enough time that dallas doesn't catch him, as he opens the door. "there's next year. or something better than working for buck." he strides in, glancing once at johnny. "hey, johnny. where's pony?" 

"your room," johnny says. dallas nods, walks past him in a long stride. johnny watches him go, jumping a little when two nudges his shoulder. johnny follows him onto the back porch, thanking him for a light. he takes a drag of his cigarette, thinking.

"you heard that, huh?" two bit says, leaning back on the rail, cocking both eyebrows. johnny nods, and two bit cracks a grin. "who'd have thought, ol' dally would actually settle down for ponyboy?" he laughs more, leaning back. 

johnny nods himself, taking a drag on the cigarette. "ain't buck's a whole lot, too?" 

two bit nods. "dal usually gets at least half if buck ain't fucking up on the pot." he shrugs. "i can't blame him too much. things ain't the same for him anymore, he's gotta think about that now." he lets out half a laugh. "wondering if we might see dal in a suit!" johnny can't help but start to snicker at that. "he'll finally be in one and it won't be for his own funeral." 

johnny really chuckles then, imagining it. wondering if dallas might really change in that way, that mating has truly changed him. he puts the thought down when darry calls them in for dinner. the whole pack is there for a moment, except for dallas. he just puts the food on a plate, grabs some drinks, and retreats back to the room with him and ponyboy. 

vi.

three days before christmas and things started to teeter. johnny wakes up in the morning to the sounds of sirens. no one ever calls the cops out here — and yet by the time he scrambles up, running into two bit, both of them are cautious. both of them make their way to the porch in time to see dallas being led down the front steps of the curtis house. dallas looks cool as he goes, head up, in just a pair of jeans and nothing else. his torso is littered with some scratches, the mating mark not as vivid as usual on his shoulder. he catches sight of them as the police haul him out, sneering like usual. 

his feet drag on the ground as he's led to the police car, them forcing him to duck inside. dallas swears at them, the door is shut. johnny can see a lot of other greasers peering out, watching as the fuzz drives dallas out of the neighborhood. 

whatever he's accused of doing, johnny doesn't know. they all saw him head in last night with ponyboy and soda into the house. whatever he's been dragged in for, it's bullshit. but johnny still thinks that it's cool, to see dallas go in like that.

he's still thinking about it when he makes his way over to ponyboy's house that afternoon. he opens the door, expecting ponyboy to be there, maybe not happy about what went on that morning. when he opens the door to come in, johnny's not expecting the place to be eerily quiet. soda and darry are both out working, that's not new. school's out at this point, and there's no homework now. 

"ponyboy?" johnny calls out, carefully moving through the house. his braces make more noise than what he's anticipating, echoing through. he can smell breakfast as he bypasses the kitchen. worried, johnny goes down the hall, and then sees ponyboy in his room. 

entering their room wasn't something johnny was comfortable with most of the time. he knows what goes on in here, and while no one's ever rebuked him, told him to stay away, he's always given it a wide berth. now, he feels caught. the door is ajar, with ponyboy curled up in the bed, shoulders shaking. 

the crutches are placed on the wall, johnny taking a few teetering steps to the bed. "pone?" 

"g'way, johnny," the words come out choked, awful out of pony's throat. "jus—" he shudders, and johnny knows he should go. pony asked, and he's never liked anyone to see him cry. johnny hates to be seen crying too, but hell. they cried with each other how many times, out in the country? how many times had they been near tears in the trial?

he slides on the bed carefully, keeping away from the majority of the nest. their mingled scent is so distant to him, which is probably how he's able to sit beside ponyboy. he doesn't touch ponyboy; just sits beside him as ponyboy sniffs, cries into the pillow. eventually, ponyboy turns over, face flushed pink, eyes swollen. he's wearing a black shirt that belonged that dallas, the jacket wrapped around his waist. the distress he's giving off seems stronger when he rasps out, "i know he ain't do it. we all know it— and he just _left._ he let 'em take him."

"he's always been like that, being gallant," johnny furrows his brows at ponyboy. it's been the way that things have always been, dallas going down to the station because the fuzz had it out for him, dallas willing to sneer at them, to show who he was. it would always be like that, wouldn't it? didn't ponyboy know that? hadn't he liked it, even? 

except ponyboy doesn't nod, doesn't accept it the way he had in the church. he looks angry at that moment, shaking his head. "i don't care about that. he ain't tim's mate!" his voice raises, hands clenching into the jacket. " _i'm_ supposed to — tim isn't—" his breathing is coming up too short, and johnny starts to feel panicked for ponyboy now. he reaches out to grasp ponyboy's shoulders; ponyboy tenses up, pushes back. 

johnny flinches, scoots away from ponyboy at the rebuttal. ponyboy looks for a moment remorseful, mouth opening to apologize. desperate to get over it, to stop it, johnny says, "it's okay."

it's not. it's really not, with ponyboy curling back into himself, voice cracking, "i'm sorry. i just — i think you should go, johnnycake."

so johnny does. 

vii.

christmas passes quietly with dallas in jail until new years day. two bit gives johnny fifty bucks for christmas without saying where he got it. johnny feels awkward without much to give except some cigarettes, but two bit grins anyway when he gets it, cuffing him around the ears playfully. 

instead of everyone going to the curtises, they come to two's place. mrs. mathews isn't working for once, and katie joins them for dinner. darry brings the ham for them all, soda a pie, steve some beers. ponyboy shows up, but johnny doesn't know what to do or say with how washed out he looks, with the fact that he stubbornly doesn't address anything about dallas the whole dinner. 

johnny worries at his nails, but what can he do? 

the day after christmas, he and two bit take the bus down to the police station. johnny hates the bus now, with the stares he gets. he turns his collar up in his seat, keeping his focus on two bit's jokes, his observations as they go. 

at the station, the guards don't look all that surprised to see two. none of them crack a smile at two's jokes, just tells them that visiting is an hour. johnny has seen dallas in cuffs before, has seen him cool in this situation, utterly unfazed by the jail.

this time, though, when he and two spot dallas, he looks on edge, jaw clenched. two actually seems to pause, getting serious as they walk to where he's sitting. "hey, dal. don't suppose you had a fun christmas in here, huh?" 

dallas looks like he could spit nails at that. johnny supposes that two being dallas' best friend saves him from the punch he'd surely get otherwise, handcuffs be damned. "cut the shit, two. where's—"

"same as last time," two's voice is measured, calm. "he's being stubborn, and so are you." dallas swears under his breath. "better question is, when's tim gonna say anything?" 

"he's not gonna," dallas spits out, eyes turning on johnny. "you doing okay, johnnycake?" johnny nods, and dallas grins back. "good. knew you were tough." 

johnny feels good hearing that. but as good as he feels, he can't help but notice how tense dallas is when they lapse into more normal conversation. how it contrasted with how upset ponyboy was, with both of them clearly upset with the other. 

on the way back, he voices it, "you think they're gonna be okay?"

two leans back on his seat, putting his legs up on a seat next to a woman who glares at him. he winks at her as he speaks, "they gotta work this out themselves. we all know dal does this, think some of us actually really like it when he gets the fuzz's attention. pony knew too — i just don't think he anticipated dal doing this now, y'know?" the bus stops, the woman stands up and two waves at her. "dal's real serious about them, so's pony. they've just gotta get their heads out of their asses and talk." 

johnny hums, mouth twisting. "dunno if i can see dal giving it up." the mental image of dallas shrugging, telling the truth to the fuzz just doesn't sit right. the idea that he wouldn't gladly do something for them doesn't rankle with with johnny knows of him. 

two shrugs. "i didn't think i'd see him mate anyone, and he did. might end up surprising us, if ponyboy doesn't." the bus rolls to a stop, and two bit waits for johnny, giving him a crutch. "just don't get in between 'em is all. let 'em talk to you, but it's something they gotta fix with themselves, you know?" 

truthfully, johnny doesn't really know. he does, however, keep his mouth shut as the week goes on. ponyboy continues to be stubborn, and the day after new years, johnny makes sure that he's inside that afternoon. he can hear dallas and ponyboy's voices carrying, can hear the slam of the screen door when dallas walks in. 

the whole time, he feels tense. that things might not work themselves out. he wonders if the upcoming month will make it worse or not. surely, dallas couldn't have forgotten about it, that it'd be a year that the curtis parents died in january?

he's not the type to. 

johnny worries for them, both. 

viii.

what do you even do, a year after your best friend's parents died? johnny remembers getting the news, remembers the blanket of sadness, shock that had settled on all of them. how eerie the house had felt, bereft of mr. and mrs. curtis, the shellshock that had worked it's way through everyone. 

two bit is as uneasy as him, as hesitant when he brings it up at dinner. "we should wait til they say somethin', i think." 

mrs. mathews, in one of her rare times of being home, hum. "i'll make some food, how about that. send it over. they shouldn't have to cook this week." she peers out of the kitchen window as she talks. "i sure wouldn't want to." 

johnny doesn't have to go, he reasons. he does anyway; they're a pack. they all were hurt when the curtises died, in different ways. so he goes with two bit with the basket of food mrs. mathews made. johnny gives a brief look further down, at his old house, before reaching out to knock on the door.

it feels… awkward to do it. they haven't had to knock in over a year. 

soda is the one who opens the door, looking a little less like himself, but smiling anyway at the offerings. "come in, it's okay." it's not fair that soda sounds comforting in this moment, johnny thinks. the house is tidied up enough, johnny noticing dallas' boots by the door. 

two bit sets the food down, johnny speaking up, "is pony home?" 

"yeah, he's still asleep, though," soda peers at the food in the basket. "jesus two bit! your mom didn't have to." 

two shrugs. "she did." 

johnny glances down the hallway. the door to pony's room is shut, and he can't hear anything. he'll have to put it down to faith that he and dallas are okay as he and two bit leave a few minutes later. the cold seems to seep into him as they go. 

ix.

things seem okay after that. school starts back. dallas reappears during lunches to drive them all to lunch, he and ponyboy fold back into each other. johnny doesn't hear anything more about arrests, which in and of itself is startling for him to realize as winter turns to spring. dallas has gone months without an arrest at all, without any sort of loud mischief. ponyboy apologizes to johnny again, and johnny accepts it even though he feels like it's not needed. 

things go on much the same, with people's eyes focused on johnny, with whispers. with them avoiding socs where they could, johnny barely passing tenth grade. summer comes in, and with it meant time.

time for greasers on the streets, milling about, forming into gangs. time for socs with all their parents money and cars, turned loose. emotions still high from the trial before that might have been cooled springing back with newspaper articles, with teenage assurance that no one would get caught if they jumped a greaser, that they wouldn't end up like bob. 

johnny hasn't had to endure much beyond stares, whispers. he's stuck to his side of town most often, always with other greasers. there are still jumpings, threats, but he's off limits. 

ponyboy, though, isn't. just because he's mated to the toughest greaser people knew, he was still a target. to them, he walked out unscathed to everyone else. he usually still had to go to school, didn't always hang out in the same places dallas did. two bit had been jumped before, steve got jumped sometimes still, soda too. ponyboy had gone mostly unscathed for months. 

it doesn't keep johnny from feeling a little shocked when soda drags in an injured, bloody ponyboy a week into june. school hasn't been out long, most jumpings tended to take some time. not now though; ponyboy is moaning in pain, half of his face a bruised up mess, blood seeping from his nose, shirt torn. johnny is moving off the couch, stumbling to help soda get him on the couch. 

"fuck— ow," ponyboy groans as they get him on the couch, his one good eye roving for a moment. "where'm i? is— is curly—?"

"he's not here, honey," soda's voice is soothing, tucking a pillow behind ponyboy's head. "johnny and i are here. just don't move." soda looks up at johnny with wide eyes. "johnny — can you get the —"

"yeah, yeah," johnny hates the smell of blood now, just moves as best he can to get the thrown together set of supplies from the closet. he grabs it, makes his way back to the couch, legs burning as he goes. soda has ponyboy propped up, johnny giving him the kit fast. 

it takes a good half an hour to finally get ponyboy cleaned up. he's bad enough that he won't be moving much for the rest of the weekend, but not so bad a hospital has to be called, to johnny's relief. they both sit on the couch, ponyboy halfway nodding off, one half of his face covered by cold peas from the fridge. the television light is an eerie grey on him, his good eye halfway focusing on johnny when he says, "what happened?"

ponyboy moans, wincing. his tongue darts out to touch his split lip. "saw some socs jumping curly. ain't fair, three on one. they got me good, til i got my switchblade out on 'em." he winces again — while johnny's stomach turns icy cold in response. "i just— dropped it towards the end is all."

he hasn't had a switchblade on him ever since last september. ever since he'd taken it, hearing ponyboy gasping for air, heard his head plunge back into the water, and—

he can't breathe. it's not rational why he can't; most of them have had switchblades at one time or another since. except… except for johnny. johnny hadn't touched one ever since, and he _thought_ that ponyboy of all people wouldn't want one. that he'd maybe use something else, do anything else than use one. 

ponyboy doesn't notice how tense johnny's gotten, eyes drooping. "dal's gonna be pissed. that was my christmas present." 

johnny feels like a second wind gets knocked out of him at _that_. that dallas would give it to ponyboy, that he would accept. every part of him thinks this is irrational, yet at the same time, he can't stop the memory of the blade in his hand, of the sound bob made when he died, the way his body had _slumped_ \--

"johnny? y'okay?" ponyboy reaches up, nudging his shoulder. his expression is worried, blood still seeping out of his nose, down his neck. 

"you had a blade?" it comes out accusatory, full of betrayal that johnny wasn't expecting, can't take back. "that dal got for you? after—"

"johnny—" the strained way ponyboy says his name tells him more than anything: ponyboy anticipated this, ponyboy knew that there was a possibility that he'd be upset by this. and he'd taken it anyway. "it ain't like—"

"yeah, it is," johnny rebuffs, breath hitching, unsure of where this is coming from, of why he feels so upset knowing that greasers needed blades. of everyone, ponyboy needed it for sure, and yet—

all he can hear in the moment, looking at ponyboy's bewildered expression, his bruised face is the sound bob made when johnny stabbed him, that awful choke, the loosening of air in his lungs. 

he grasps his crutches, ignores ponyboy when he calls out after him. he barrels into the night, shaking hard, until he's finally back at his house. at his old house, where it stands with one light on, the television loud, his parents already winding up for a screaming match, the same as that night almost a year ago. 

by the time he's back at two bit's, he knows that he looks like hell, feels like hell. his legs haven't been this strained in weeks, and he can't help how worn out he feels, the odd disappointment in his chest. 

for the first time in months, he dreams of bob's body. 

x.

avoiding ponyboy for a few days is easier than johnny likes. all he has to do is stay inside, ignore the knock at the door, and read to himself, slowly. he doesn't want to be a coward like this at all. 

but he can't think about ponyboy now without the sound of his body hitting the water, without the nightmares of feeling bob's blood seeping onto his hands, without the thought of the switchblade, flashing in the moonlight. 

xi.

dallas' eyes are pinned to johnny when he finally comes back to the curtises, a week later. he's lying on the couch, hair long again, getting a long pull from his cigarette. he still has bruises on him, the mark vivid against the tank he wears. "pony ain't here. sit down — i know you came here to say something, so say it." 

it's not a question, it's a command. johnny wavers at the door, but dallas told him to sit, so he does on the couch seat against the window. as angry, as upset as he is, dallas still seems cool to him, lying on the couch, the greaser without a job, with a mate, coiled on the couch as if he owns the place — and he certainly doesn't. 

he's understood dallas before, johnny thinks. but here and now, he doesn't as he says, "why'd you give him that blade, dal?" after everything. after that death, the trial. the possibility of it happening all over again. didn't that hang in the background of things, did it ever invade n the forefront of dallas' mind?

dallas blows smoke out from his nostrils, squinting at johnny. "what's it to you? i can't be around him all the time, as much as i want to." he taps out his cigarette, eyes focused on johnny. "you know the score, johnny. we all do." 

frustration balls itself up in johnny's chest, at war with the fact that he's still a little in awe of dallas, at the nerve it would take to do this. conversation with ponyboy is easy usually, understood. dallas…

"aren't you scared of it happening again?" the words hardly leave him when he says it, prepared entirely for the sneer dallas gives him in response. he should stop, but presses on quietly, "the socs haven't stopped. they— pony could kill—"

"a soc? someone who'd try to kill him _first_?" dallas snaps back, almost snarling now in a way that johnny has never had turned on him before. "maybe there's a chance of that. it's still better that then let them finish what bob started." 

_that's not what i asked_ , johnny thinks. but this is his answer, dallas glaring at him strong as anything, defiant, angry. uncaring if maybe this ends up another hopeless situation, another free fall. 

johnny can't do anything about it. this is what he's liked about dallas, right? he liked that dallas could be defensive, defiant, reckless. and yet… he doesn't like this. he doesn't like it when ponyboy comes home, and the handle of the switchblade is sticking out his back pocket. he doesn't like it when he and ponyboy talk again, it's hanging in the air, the switchblade and all it implies. 

quietly, johnny begins to realize that the gulf between him and the rest of the pack isn't just limited to his body. 

xii.

they get older. johnny keeps his eyes on the switchblade even when he doesn't want to. he doesn't witness some jumpings, but every time he's there with pony, his eyes are fixated. it isn't all he sees: he sees, too, ponyboy going without grease in his hair sometimes, just for dallas; dallas going to jail less and less but disappearing for days at a time with no explanation; the sound of a blistering fight when dallas goes to jail again, covering for steve; ponyboy cradling a broken nose and dallas swearing as he peels his fingers away after a soc hit him. 

johnny wants to bridge that gulf, wants it to close. but the switchblade remains. ponyboy involves himself in college, leaving with darry at times to look at them, and dallas goes to a rodeo once or twice, always careful with what he chooses. 

johnny graduates with ponyboy, and still, his parents don't acknowledge him. that's fine enough; the entire pack celebrates for them both, with more for pony than johnny. he knows that he's not going to college; ponyboy is, and that's alright. 

he wonders, though, about what he's going to do. about their words in the lot together, about a place without socs, where you could walk without being jumped. for once, he voices it in the backyard, ponyboy lying beside him, passing a cigarette back and forth. 

ponyboy is silent a long moment. his hair was freshly cut for graduation, but a long lock of hair runs from his forehead to his nose, and he breathes deep before he says, "i dunno, johnny. it feels like there ain't such place now." he turns over to pass the cigarette, shrugging. "i still hope so. maybe oklahoma city." 

johnny takes the cigarette. "ain't that where you're going?"

"yeah," ponyboy grins wider, proud like he should be. "they had greasers there too but they was different than us. greasier." he wrinkles his nose and he looks so much like soda it's striking. "me an' dal are gonna go looking for an apartment after my birthday." 

johnny takes a drag from the cigarette and does not voice how nervous he feels about them leaving. 

ponyboy was always going to leave, after all. 

xiii.

those cannot be dallas' footsteps he hears. oklahoma city is pretty far away, it's almost four in the morning, but johnny has never had to guess at dallas' footfalls. he frowns in his bed, wide awake. the night before had been a busy one — he'd been working at the local mart for the past two years, even since he graduated school. they never gave him shit, never looked down on him. he earned a good pay, but the night before had been plagued by nightmares of blades and the moon and bob gasping. 

those are dallas' footsteps in the hall, and johnny doesn't know why the hell he's back in tulsa. he moves carefully from his bed, opening the door a crack to look. dallas has some clothes with him, and a leather brace he's never seen before on his forearm, the same one that still had that scar from the fire. he doesn't see johnny as he ducks into the main bathroom, shutting the door behind him. 

johnny shuts his own door, bewildered. 

around five, two bit knocks on johnny's door. johnny doesn't have to fake being tired as he opens it, two giving him an easy look. "hey, johnnycake. i'm heading out — be back tonight, okay? steve'll come pick you up after work." 

"sure thing, two," johnny says, not remarking at all about the fact he can still faintly scent dallas. "you be careful." 

"sure will!" two flicks his forehead, laughs, and johnny shuts the door. he can hear an engine he doesn't recognize roar to life. headlights seep through the front of the house, and then they're gone. 

what in the hell was going on?

xiv.

he begins to find a rhythm. dallas showing up every four to six weeks, early. changing clothes, showering, leaving with two for a day or more. coming back, showing again, slipping into his previous clothes and leaving. it's almost like clockwork. 

if he happens to run into johnny, it's briefly and never too lingering. he's had a black eye once but nothing more. the car is his, a sleek black muscle car that johnny is shocked he can afford. 

the more he thinks of it, the more suspicious he feels. what were the both of them hiding?

It's not exactly hard for johnny to understand that his living situation is costly. he still needs medical attention at times, still has to fight being sick with every inch of himself. and yet, two never has to strain despite not making much at buck's and his mother's money. 

the one time johnny has even tried to approach it, two bit had been uncharacteristically short and serious, almost glaring at johnny. "johnny, we knew what we were doing, okay? you ain't have to worry about bills, any of that. ever." 

johnny had wanted to pry more — except for the fact that two bit was pack now, more than his parents ever were. he cared about him, him and his mother. and johnny… 

even then he was scared to mess it up. so he kept his mouth shut. 

he considers maybe an affair. and then he rolls his eyes because of anyone, dallas winston was the last person to commit an affair. 

it still bothers him, whenever he calls ponyboy. he doesn't have to be told not to say anything, but it still burns at his gut, bothers him. the one time he's brought it up, ponyboy has merely said, "yeah, i know he'll be back sunday." 

nothing more. 

xv. 

watching ponyboy get dallas in through the door is startling. it's been awhile since johnny has seen someone bloody, and even at twenty two, the violence gets to him. he shuts the door after them, unsure of just why and how ponyboy was this calm. 

he'd never been jumped in oklahoma city, never been injured in anything worse than the occasional stick up at the waffle house where he worked. johnny knew that for sure. 

or, he thought he did. he's no longer sure as ponyboy calmly eases dallas onto the couch. dallas is swearing a blue streak, ponyboy's voice hardly raising, "johnny, i got some medical shit in the kitchen, under the sink. could you get it?" 

johnny moves stiffly, slowly. he can hear ponyboy soothing dallas in the house, the walls not thick enough to muffle their conversation. "jesus, dal. how'd you get stuck like this? feel like we have—" 

"no," dallas snaps out, voice like a gunshot. johnny opens up the cabinet, turns his head. stares. 

there's a bag of money over on one side. the bag is half open, the money in stacks he's only seen in gangster movies. he stares at it as dallas continues, "i'm not owing nunes anymore than i have to. you can do it better than the broad he's got anyway." 

johnny reaches over, carefully tugs at the bag. there's more and more money. some of it is tied together, most of it hastily shoved in there. and there are more bags beneath the sink as well, and he can't imagine how much he's looking at is the only thing they have. he can hear ponyboy shifting on the couch, the sound of a shirt hitting the floor. "i can do it better than her cause i ain't afraid of you. all bark—"

"i'll show _you_ no bite—"

ponyboy laughs. "then shut up, let me get this. you know a hospital ain't an option. specially after you got that bullet last month." there's a gasp and a groan from dallas. "sure you ain't getting hurt just because you like me babying you?" 

"don't think what i like is for babies," dallas huffs out, and johnny pushes the money away, hand shaking. he thinks then, of two and dallas going out for days at a time. thinks of the times two bit has limped back inside, the times that johnny has thought they'd come up short and they never did. thinks of news stories of how much money things like dope got, and his eyes flash back to the bags of money. 

he feels sick himself as he finally finds the medical kit. worse at how extensive it is, something meant for soldiers, not regular people. he drags it out with effort, purposely making enough noise to cause ponyboy and dallas to be a little quieter. when he gets over to the couch, he can fully see it: ponyboy with bloody hands, his glasses on, squinting at a cut on dallas' side. he's half straddling dallas at this point, concentrating on the wound there. dallas' jacket is carefully folded on the other end of the couch — and even then, johnny thinks that he can see a roll of money wedged in the pocket, some of it sticking out despite the folding. dallas is looking up at him, eyes glinting, relaxed — johnny can see other old wounds: bullet holes healed over, knife scars going up his torso. ones too new for ponyboy to not know about.

both of them have done this more than once. both of them know the dance, both of them know what they're doing, what they've been doing. 

"thanks, johnny," ponyboy looks up, takes the kit from him with steady hands. "i can get him. you want me to call two? don't think you'll wanna stick around for this. looks like someone jumped him real good." 

ponyboy is lying straight to his face, with ease. if someone had jumped him, where were the defensive wounds, the black eye? there's only a knife wound.

johnny's stomach turns. he wants to ask: _where did you learn? are you even going to lie about how you know how to do this? how many times have you done this? what else are you hiding?_

"i can call him," johnny forces the words out, one by one. as if he hadn't just heard that ponyboy has known about this. that ponyboy had apparently seen dallas with bullet holes, that he obviously knew about the money, that whatever shit dallas was doing—

ponyboy knew. and he wasn't going to stop dallas, he wasn't going to try and change it. worse, that dallas had done this. dallas had dragged ponyboy into this and somehow….

somehow johnny hadn't seen. hadn't known. had only considered changing in one way. 

xvi. 

the last thing he sees ponyboy do is check on a needle that's boiling on the stove. he's been sitting, trying to process what he's seen. the money. the kit. hearing ponyboy laugh, knowing what's been going on. little things stick out to him too: the fact that they'd gotten a house instead of an apartment when they'd moved to oklahoma city; ponyboy never complaining about the pay at any of the jobs he had; the still good, fairly new car dallas had parked outside; the fact that it'd taken such a long time for ponyboy to even invite him over to the house. 

it all jumbles together in his mind, so that when two bit arrives, ponyboy has to shake him. johnny jumps a little, ponyboy's tone apologetic, "sorry, johnny. two's here. sorry about… all of this."

johnny decides to ask. just once. "how'd you figure out how to fix him up?" johnny's eyes flick towards the living room, where he can still faintly scent blood. he can hear two's truck idling, but wants to look at ponyboy's face, wants to really see it. 

"had a school friend show me," the lie comes out so smoothly from ponyboy when he says it. "he's a nursing student — wasn't too hard." he shrugs, glances behind johnny. "you gonna be—"

"yeah, yeah," johnny turns, makes his way down the steps on his own, determined not to show the hurt on his face. "i'll see you, ponyboy!"

ponyboy waves from the porch, and only shuts the door when two bit pulls out with johnny. 

all the way home, johnny rewinds the lies over and over again in his head. thinks of the things he might've missed, the signs that dallas and ponyboy had rubbed off on each other in ways he hadn't anticipated. 

he thinks of his letter again, the one still found in the book. how he had wished for ponyboy to show dallas a sunset. how he had wanted him to stay gold. 

he sets his mouth into a line, leans his head on the window and shuts his eyes instead of watching the sun sink on the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading this! please comment, kudos, come holler at me on tumblr @madeleinepryor i really love every conversation and piece of feedback. this was written due to a long held idea i've had with regards to all three's relationship to each other. some of this will be touched on and further developed in other installments but this one really was itching to get out. special thanks to @aishiteru too for this.


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